


1 John 4:16

by sland3rs



Series: Up The Wolves [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Abuse, Anders Negative, Angst, Anxiety, Background Relationships, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gaslighting, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Other Ships Not Mentioned in Tags, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-13
Updated: 2018-07-13
Packaged: 2019-06-10 01:17:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15280383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sland3rs/pseuds/sland3rs
Summary: Thomas Hawke has been in a relationship with Anders for almost four years. He tries his best, but being a self-loathing mage who largely sees magic as dangerous makes it challenging to see eye to eye with Anders. Nerves frayed and self esteem shot, Hawke goes to the Chantry to confess his problems to a stranger. Only that stranger is Sebastian and Hawke’s problems have a much darker origin…Anders negative, present Handers, future Sebhawke. Mind the tags (noncon tag is for a brief line, fic does not go into detail).





	1 John 4:16

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired in part by this [song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YahiDX_mbWA). 
> 
> Again, this is not a happy story. Hawke is not in a place to recognize what is going on and, unfortunately, Sebastian isn't able to swoop in and save him like he deserves. The beginning is a lot more intense than the end, but things get a little better.
> 
> It won't always be this bad, I promise.

Hawke stared up at the Chantry doors. They loomed over him, the banners waving in the wind. A steady flow of people walked in and out, most to pray or talk to one of the Sisters. There used to be programs to help feed the poor and teach people to read, but the Qunari attack a year ago had left the Chantry even more paranoid and on edge than before. Now it was rare that the Sisters ventured to Lowtown, if they left the Chantry at all. At least, that was what Anders said. Hawke didn't usually concern himself with the Chantry, but he knew if he weren't the Champion of Kirkwall — and whether he deserved that title was an entirely different conversation — then he wouldn't have been welcome. 

A refugee and a mage, Hawke didn't think he'd ever go to the Chantry for comfort or a sympathetic ear but he was out of options. He knew his companions were frustrated with him and they wouldn't want to listen to his silly and pointless problems anyways. Hawke knew that he didn't spend much time with them and he made decisions they disagreed with regularly but more importantly he knew what Anders said about them. 

Anders made it clear that the others would stop at nothing to use and manipulate Hawke for their own benefit and Hawke, too weak willed and timid for his own good, would let them. It was for Hawke’s own good that he didn't spend much time with the others, even if he liked Varric’s stories or Isabela’s card tricks. Even Fenris and Merrill were fun to talk to, though Hawke sometimes thought Fenris hated him. 

Hawke wouldn’t have blamed him, but it did make him sad. He thought there were many admirable aspects about Fenris. Not like he could say that, in case Anders heard and decided to remind Hawke of all the negative traits of their mutual companions… 

Regardless, Hawke was not close to his companions for his own safety, because he trusted Anders and Anders could read people better than Hawke. Anders was older, after all, and much wiser. And he was always so dreadfully busy with the mage underground… 

That why Hawke was at the Chantry. He couldn't burden Anders with more to be concerned about and none of Hawke’s companions would listen to him if he complained to them. But there was a confession booth at the Chantry and there Hawke could say anything he wanted and the Sister wouldn't know him. 

Hawke shivered despite the afternoon heat and walked inside. 

The candles provided ample light and the soft murmur of voices had him on edge at first, but soon became welcoming once it was clear that everyone spoke out of curiosity and friendliness rather than anger or hostility. There wasn't a service for a few hours, but it was still surprisingly busy. A mother with a small child spoke softly with a Sister and Hawke could see several people lighting candles for lost ones. He made a mental note to come by another day and ask Sebastian for help lighting candles for his family. Not for the first time, Hawke found himself missing his siblings and felt a stab of guilt. 

_This is your fault! You should have protected her._ Mother’s voice lingered in his head. Cruel, really, that even after these few years her condescending tone was more familiar to him than her loving one. 

Hawke glanced around the large room, the steps leading up to the back rooms and offices and the main part of the chapel. He didn't remember the last time he set foot in any Chantry, not for religious purposes at least. Even back in Lothering, he and Bethany had been terrified of the Templars. Carver never had been — he always swore to protect his siblings. 

_This is your fault!_

_Where is Carver?_

_Your father is dead. You are the man of the house now, Thomas._

Hawke bit his lip until it bled, hoping to shake the echoes of voices from his head. 

None of the Sisters were paying attention to him and none of the Hightown nobles recognized him. Good — he had dressed in older, nondescript robes instead of his flashy Champion armor. Without scrutiny, Hawke made his way to the empty corner that hosted the confessional. He took a deep breath and slipped inside, sitting quickly. 

It was dark inside. The air was thick with dust and Hawke coughed a few times to clear his throat. 

“Forgive me, Sister, for I have erred in the sight of the Maker.” His tongue felt heavy in his mouth. His eyes were squeezed shut as if being unable to see would make this better. There was a thick screen between his seat and the other side, easily obscuring Hawke’s sight of the Sister who was listening but still porous enough to let sound through. Hawke hesitated, unsure where to begin. 

He decided to start with the beginning. 

“My inaction has led to the death of people I cared for. I failed to help them and they perished. And people continue to suffer because I do not act.” It wasn't easy. The words didn't come smoothly no matter how much Hawke spoke. He continued to hesitate, to second-guess himself. He knew he had to be careful and not give away any of Anders’ work with the mage underground. If he did, Anders would be furious. “I am lazy and weak-willed. I am distrustful and suspicious of people who have done nothing wrong. Those closest to me are hurt by my repeat failures.” 

“And what are your failures?” The Sister asked. Her voice was soft and surprisingly deep, but Hawke attributed that to old age. 

It took Hawke a moment to collect his thoughts. He felt like he could say a million things — he was inconsiderate, foolish, self-centered and meek. He didn't support Anders the way a good partner would, the way someone who truly loved Anders would. Hawke wanted to be better, or at the very least decent enough, for Anders. That was all. And yes, there was irony in him seeking out help and guidance from the Chantry of all places, but… 

Well, it was the last place Anders would ever go to look for Hawke, on the off chance that Anders came home early from the clinic. Hawke was allowed to go on missions and help around Kirkwall, but Anders appreciated being taken along or at least knowing ahead of time. It was the least Hawke could do, really. He still remembered how furious Anders had been when he heard that Hawke had taken Fenris, Varric, and Isabela on a trip to the Wounded Coast without warning Anders ahead of time. 

_What if something had happened to you? What if the Templars came and took me away? You wouldn't know what happened to me and I could be hurt or killed or worse._ And Anders had yelled for an hour or so, but after he had taken Hawke’s face in his hands and held him close and Hawke was reminded just how much Anders loved him. _I was worried for you._ That had made it okay. 

“Ser?” The Sister asked, startling Hawke out of his melancholy thoughts. He swallowed, trying to organize his thoughts. 

“I… I cause too many problems for my partner. I hurt him by questioning him too often and I don't support him the way he deserves. When he wishes to — to love me—” And here, Hawke paused to take in a shaky breath. His eyes had opened — he was staring at a patch of dust on the floor. He rubbed at his eyes, forcing himself not to tremble in his seat. “Sometimes I'm too selfish and refuse him until I realize that he just wants to show me how much he cares for md. And when he's upset and I don't realize it, then I'm failing him and not — not good enough.” Hawke felt his voice break. “I just — I simply wish to be a good person, Sister. I want to be good enough for my partner. And — and perhaps it is selfish of me to ask the Maker for His forgiveness, because He has a great many people to care for, but—” 

“Sebastian?” A strange voice called from outside the confessional.

Hawke stopped. He couldn't risk Sebastian seeing him, didn't know what he would think of Hawke being in the Chantry. Hawke was shaking, his palms were sweaty, and his stomach felt like it was twisted into knots. 

“Ser? Did you have more—” 

“N-no,” Hawke stammered, pushing the confessional door open and jumping out as if he were on fire. He felt himself stumble over his robes and almost fall to the ground. His face burned with shame and he couldn't look up, couldn't stand to look at anyone else. 

There was a startled shout as Hawke blundered his way by someone, knocking shoulders with them in his haste to leave, but he didn't stop. He could barely get out of the Chantry, that was how weak his legs felt. His vision was blurry as he ran down the courtyard and ducked into Hightown proper, finally finding solace in an alley. 

Hawke breathed in and out, trying to calm down and not let his emotions get the better of him. He could feel the air around him heat, the cursed magic in his body begging to be let out. 

_No, no, no!_ Hawke thought, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes until he saw stars. The pain brought him back into himself and he finally felt like he could breathe. 

It was still mid-afternoon. The sun shone down on Kirkwall and the breeze brought the stench from the docks up to Hightown. It helped Hawke remember where he was, but that wasn't necessarily a good thing. 

_I need to get back._ When did Anders say he would return? It has to be too early, the sun hasn't even set… Hawke shuddered. His robes were clammy, sticking to his skin wherever they could. He felt like he was sick, his head swimming and his vision blurry. It hit him, in that moment, how vulnerable he was. If someone were to come by and mug him, he’d be helpless. He hadn’t brought his staff into the Chantry and he was in no condition to fight someone.

 _This is why Anders protects you, this is why he wants to know where you are if you leave the house,_ Hawke reminded himself. 

With that in mind, Hawke pushed himself away from the wall and stumbled towards the mansion. 

#

Kirkwall had the worst weather. In the winter, birds froze on their perches and the sewage in Darktown would slow into a horrible, icy sludge. In the spring, torrents of rain threatened to push the entire city into the sea and Darktown would flood. Several times, Anders hadn’t even been able to get to his clinic, not even through the secret passage from the Hawke — Amell? Hawke had no attachment to that name — mansion. And in the fall, bitterly cold winds blew in from the north while the sea became too dangerous for any but the most skilled to traverse.

But the summer? The summer was, in Hawke’s opinion, the worst. The sun didn’t hide behind clouds and the only wind seemed to exist to spread the stench of Darktown and Lowtown up through Kirkwall. Hawke grew up on a farm, but that didn’t mean he _liked_ the smell of the sewers. And when it did rain, the rain didn’t even bother trying to be cold and refreshing. Instead it poured down in sporadic bursts, hot and heavy, and left the city feeling sticky and damp. 

Hawke stared out the window of the front room as the rain fell. It was a rare occasion when the rain came down so heavy that it didn’t show any signs of disappearing, but it had been like that ever since Hawke woke up, before Bodhan even had breakfast ready. 

He had paperwork to do, letters to reply to, tasks to organize and people to help, but the rain dissuaded him from moving. Anders was somewhere in the mansion, working on his manifesto. Hawke didn’t talk to him about it, didn’t bring up his feelings on the Circle, because that only caused arguments and Hawke hated arguing with his partner. 

_You’re a mage, how can you feel this way? No — I don’t want to hear it._

_It’s like we need permission to be alive._

_Man made the Chantry and man can destroy it._

Hawke shook his head. There was no point in dwelling on — on the beliefs Anders held. Not when that only led towards fighting and Hawke being reminded that he was a traitor to all mages simply for disliking his magic and believing the Circle was necessary.

He set aside a letter from Meredith. He didn't want to know what she needed — even if it was important, there was no chance of him gathering a party to go around Kirkwall in this weather. Besides, Hawke knew that Anders wanted to work on his manifesto the whole day and there would be no stopping him short of an act from the Maker himself — and even then, Anders would only stop to get into an argument with Him. 

A knock on the front door pushed Hawke out of his thoughts. He blinked and tried to focus on the papers in front of him. The door to the front room was open, as was the connecting door to the library. Bodhan appeared at the top of the stairs as another knock rang through the mansion. Hawke cleared his throat to tell Bodhan to leave it, he could answer the door perfectly fine, as Anders emerged from the library. 

“Maker’s breath, it’s pouring out. Who on Thedas…?” Anders didn’t acknowledge Hawke as he walked to the foyer and opened the door. Hawke twisted around in his chair to try to see who it was. “What are you doing here?” Anders didn’t try to keep his voice quiet nor did he try to hide the incredulous tone he had adopted. 

Hawke didn’t believe his eyes, but it was hard to mistake that white armor and the Starkhaven accent, even with the rain threatening to make Kirkwall a floating city. 

“I am here to see Hawke, not you,” Sebastian replied. 

“He’s busy.” Anders crossed his arms, shifting so the door was mostly closed. Hawke stood and, as softly as he could, began to walk over to the foyer. 

“I will wait for him.” Sebastian’s voice was muffled, but he was speaking loud enough for Hawke to hear him anyways. 

Anders shook his head. “No. I don’t want you in our home. If you need to talk with Thomas, you can come back another time. He doesn’t need people like you bothering him.” 

“People like me?” 

“Yes. Liars, thieves, people who will lock up others just because of how they were born.” Anders wasn’t talking to Hawke, but he flinched anyways. “You are not welcome here.” 

“I will wait for Hawke to tell me that, if he chooses.” Sebastian’s voice was taking on a colder edge and Hawke froze. Was Sebastian upset with him? Had one of the Sisters recognized Hawke and told Sebastian? 

_Maybe I should hide,_ Hawke thought right as a powerful gust of wind blew the door back, splattering Anders with rain water and revealing Hawke standing awkwardly in the foyer. 

“Oh, Thomas, what are you doing? I thought you were answering letters,” Anders said, raising an eyebrow at his partner. He held out a hand and Thomas walked over, letting Anders pull him into a warm but slightly wet embrace. Hawke shivered, the water on Anders’s robes seeping into his own clothes. “Tell Sebastian that you’re busy.” 

“I only wished to talk, my friend. If you are busy, then I will come back another time.” Sebastian’s bright blue eyes didn’t give away anything and, despite the rain that flattened his hair and soaked his clothes, he seemed perfectly content to stand there until Hawke told him to leave. 

“I told you, Thomas is busy.” Anders tightened his grip on Hawke, resting his chin on Hawke’s shoulder. “You’re wasting our time.” 

“It’s fine, Anders,” Hawke mumbled, eyes glancing down at the water that was starting to pool on the doorstep. “I’m sure it won’t be a long conversation. I don’t have much work left anyways.” He didn’t move until Anders sighed, pressed a kiss to Hawke’s cheek, and let him go. 

“All right. But find somewhere out of the rain to talk. I don’t want to have to heal you because you got sick talking to someone in the rain,” Anders said. He remained quiet as Hawke nodded, pulled on a cloak and boots, and walked out of the mansion. The door slammed shut behind him and Hawke winced. He hadn’t brought a key, but surely Anders or Bodhan would hear him knock later? 

_It doesn’t matter now,_ Hawke thought, pulling his cloak a little tighter. Sebastian frowned, glancing between Hawke and the door. 

“Anders won’t let us talk inside?” Sebastian asked. 

“He doesn’t like having people over. Especially not…” Hawke trailed off. Sebastian waited and Hawke eventually sighed and continued. “Especially not people who lick the Grand Cleric’s boots.” 

“Do you think that?” 

Hawke didn’t answer the question. He glanced back at the mansion, where the curtains were now drawn shut. It still didn’t look like the rain would let up, but he also didn’t want to walk down to Lowtown and hope that The Hanged Man had space for the two of them to talk. Hawke still didn’t know what Sebastian wanted to say, just that it had to do with Hawke visiting the Chantry the other day. 

“I have somewhere we can talk,” Hawke said, motioning for Sebastian to follow him. Sebastian nodded and, without further ado, Hawke led the way. 

The rain felt like the Maker was taking a piss all over Kirkwall, the rain too hot to be refreshing and instead making Hawke feel sticky and sick. He pushed his sloppy bangs out of his eyes, regretting having turned Bodhan’s offer of a haircut down the other week. Behind him, Sebastian followed without question as the two meandered their way through Kirkwall. 

There were no merchants out, for which Hawke was glad. He didn't want to deal with strangers harassing him, trying to get him to buy more useless trinkets or try on expensive Antivian boots. Hawke was, at his core, a Ferelden farmboy and quite frankly he had enjoyed mucking out stables and weeding fields a lot more than killing bandits and dealing with squabbling nobles. 

It took a few more minutes before Hawke finally saw the place he wanted to sit down at. There was a small courtyard on a rare patch of open land, no buildings blocking the view all the way down to the docks. When it wasn't raining, the view was absolutely breathtaking. As it was, the bench offered a perfect scene of nobody walking around and boats bobbing in the sea. 

Without a word, Hawke sat on the bench. There was a small sapling growing next to the bench, though he didn't know who had planted it. The bench was clearly public property but it was out of the way enough that no one had ever disturbed Hawke while he sat there. 

Sebastian sat next to Hawke. Their thighs brushed each other and, instinctually, Hawke flinched and shuffled a little over. If Sebastian noticed, he said nothing. The rain continued to pour around them but Hawke was hardly bothered at this point. After a while, the rain stopped being a nuisance and started fading into the background. 

“What did you want to talk about?” Hawke asked. He winced, feeling like he was too aggressive. “Sorry. I'm just… tired.” 

“You look like sleep has been hard to find, my friend. Have there been things troubling you?” Sebastian asked, voice soft despite the rain. 

Hawke shrugged but didn't answer. He looked out over the city, seeing where repairs from the Qunari invasion had yet to be finished. The city was healing slowly but certainly. Maybe in a few more years it would be as if the Qunari had never attacked. 

“I wanted to know how you are doing. I know that being Champion has led to more work and more attention. If you wanted to talk about anything, I am here,” Sebastian promised. 

“I'm fine, Sebastian, really. I haven't been sleeping well because Anders has been anxious and I've been trying to help him.” Of course, helping in this context meant providing stress relief the only consistent way Hawke knew. 

Hawke mentally went through where the bite marks Anders had left on him were. They were all hidden by his cloak, but his house robes didn't have a high collar — had Sebastian seen? The thought made Hawke blush. He didn't consider himself a prude, but he definitely didn't like the details of his sex life being broadcast, not like Isabela. 

“You two seem very close. Are you happy, living together? I would think your differing views create tension.” 

“Of course I’m happy,” Hawke replied automatically. “Anders is a good man, even if we disagree about mages. I know he cares for me and just wants me to feel more comfortable with my magic.” Hawke shrugged, leaning back a little so his palms could rest against the stone bench. 

“I remember when we met. You did not like using your magic. Has that really changed?” There was a small smile on Sebastian’s face. “Though you did do an admirable job lighting a fire last time we were on the Wounded Coast.” 

Despite the poke at Hawke’s abilities, he laughed anyways. He could remember how hard it was for him to light a campfire without also blowing up half the campsite with it, but Anders had been insistent that Hawke do it and had practically ordered Sebastian and Fenris to leave it be. It had taken a good twenty minutes and Hawke needed healing after for the burns on his hands, but doing small feats of magic were much harder than the large and Hawke had felt proud of himself. 

Even if the fire had gone out twenty minutes later because he didn't add more wood, too distracted by Anders’s praise and affection. 

“I still think magic is best controlled and used only when necessary, but I'm only a danger if I don't know how to use my magic. As long as I bring no harm to those who don't deserve it, then…” Hawke trailed off. Did Sebastian really want to sit here and talk about the ethics and morals of magic? If he wanted that, he could have remained at the mansion and argued with Anders or gone to find Fenris, who was closer to Sebastian than most anyone else. “Sorry, you didn't come here to talk about my problems.” 

“You are my friend, Hawke. If something is bothering you, then I am a willing ear for your concerns.” Sebastian offered him a warm smile. Hawke blushed and looked away. 

His throat squeezed up and he was glad it was raining, because then he couldn't tell if the tightness in his chest and the burning in his eyes was making him cry. He could feel Sebastian watching him with those blistering blue eyes — so unlike Anders and _Maker_ wasn't that a horrible thing to think? Hawke had no illusions about his romantic chances his general. There was a reason Anders was the first person to care for him, to love him in the most intimate of ways. And here Hawke was, sitting out in the stinking rain, wondering what it would be like to just lean against Sebastian and fall asleep. 

“Are you sure everything is okay? I cannot imagine it is easy living with someone you disagree with so much.” Sebastian was so kind, so warm. So much better than Hawke that it made his stomach churn and his chest tighten. 

Hawke forced a smile. “I'm fine, really. Just stressed about the city. But thank you. I appreciate your concern,” he lied. 

“You are a force of good in the city, but you should take care of yourself as well. It would help no one if their Champion were unable to do his duties.” 

_Oh, of course. He is worried about the city. Why wouldn't he be? The city is far more important than any one individual…_

“And if you do not take care of yourself, we will all lose a dear friend.” Sebastian reached out and squeezed Hawke’s shoulder. It was so surprising that Hawke didn't even know how to respond — he couldn't remember the last time someone who wasn't Anders had touched him. “I know you are not Andrastian, but if you wish to pray… Well, I find that praying brings me great comfort, even when I am uncertain.” 

Usually, Hawke would refuse. He didn’t trust the Chantry and he had heard Anders talk for far too long about the evils of the Templars and those who controlled them but… Yesterday, when Hawke had gone into the Chantry, no one had been angry or upset. He didn’t burst into flames or have a hundred Templars sent to kill him. In fact, all he had seen were people finding comfort and hope at the Chantry. People willingly going and feeling better because of it. 

So he nodded and didn’t flinch as Sebastian extended a hand for him to take. Hawke hoped his hands weren’t trembling as he placed his hand in Sebastian’s. 

A farmer by trade, Hawke was not a soft person — he had calluses and all sorts of scars across his palms and the back of his hands. But neither was Sebastian. He may have been a prince in another life and a Chantry Brother in this, but he still was skilled with a bow and his fingers had developed the calluses required to shoot so well. And there were small marks on his fingers left from a previous life of debauchery and reckless daring. 

But with their hands together, Hawke didn’t feel self-conscious about the signs of failed spells or mishaps with farming equipment. He could close his eyes and breathe out, breathe in, and listen to Sebastian recite a prayer. 

“Maker, my enemies are abundant. Many are those who rise up against me. But my faith sustains me; I shall not fear the legion, should they set themselves against me. In the long hours of the night, when hope has abandoned me, I will see the stars and know, Your Light remains.”

**Author's Note:**

> _“And we have known and believed the love that God hath for us. God is love, and he that dwelleth in love dwelleth in God, and God in him.”_


End file.
